Stiletto Safari (5 page)

Still, the reality was that I had to do something. After a few wines, I decided to look into volunteering. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to investigate the options.

When I woke up with a shocking headache the next morning, my enthusiasm for volunteering had already started to noticeably wane.

I headed out on a quest for coffee. It was a mistake. As soon as I exited my apartment building I was assailed by a busty blonde who thrust a microphone in my face as flashes went off all around me. “Zara Hamilton, will you be attending Nick Hansen’s first court appearance later today? Are you two still together? Why did he do it?” she demanded.

“Quick, there she is,” another reporter screamed at her crew.

For a moment I froze like a deer caught in headlights before shielding my face with my tote and beating a hasty retreat back inside.

One of the reporters yelled after me, “Come on, Zara, just talk to us. We’re not going anywhere until you do. We know where you live and we have all the time in the world. We’ll camp out if need be.” The busty blonde made to chase me in her bright yellow pumps into the building. Fortunately, the foyer door locked just in time.

Oh my god, this was an absolute nightmare! My privacy was being totally invaded. I made it up to my apartment and peeked out of my window; the reporters were still lurking outside.

Without a second thought, I opened my laptop and Googled “Africa” plus “volunteer.” Surely anything was better than remaining a prisoner in my own home!

A number of websites popped up. For the life of me I couldn’t remember the name of the site Asha had recommended, so I started trawling through all of them.

Surprisingly, some of the programs actually looked okay. The program that caught my eye first was based in South Africa. Importantly, the accommodation looked really nice; I’d get my own room complete with a luxuriously appointed ensuite bathroom, and the volunteer camp had a large swimming pool.

According to the blurb, the animals I’d be working with were all orphaned and ranged from big cats through to primates and birds. I’d be responsible for feeding them, cleaning their enclosures, walking them, and from time to time assisting with some very basic vet work.

Bizarrely, I had to
apply
to become a volunteer. Given that I was expected to pay for the joy of volunteering, I found this a little odd, but I dutifully filled out the application form. When it came to explaining why I wanted to participate in the program, I chose to keep it simple and wrote what I expected to be the standard response: “because I love animals and people.” Of course, I could have told the truth and said “because the man I thought I’d marry is going to jail, my work has basically sacked me, I’m being stalked by the press, and I need to escape as far away from New York as possible,” but that just seemed like an unnecessary amount of detail.

Two hours after e-mailing off my application, I received an e-mail advising me that I had not been accepted into the six-month program because they were fully booked. I couldn’t believe it. I was being rejected as a volunteer—how unappreciative!

The e-mail did, however, advise that there was one remaining spot left in a very similar program in Namibia. Wearily I looked up the Namibian program. Right off I noticed that the accommodation didn’t look as good, and I’d have to share a bathroom. Hmmm! On the upside the rehabilitation center currently had two lion cubs and fourteen wild dog puppies. I’ve always been a sucker for lion cubs, and the photos on the website were gorgeous.

I made a silent deal with myself: if the reporters were still loitering outside, it was a sign that I should book my trip.

Cautiously I peered out of my window again. I breathed a sigh of relief; they were gone. But then from out of the corner of my eye I spied a platinum blonde wearing bright yellow pumps.

Groaning, I returned to my laptop and accepted the volunteer spot I’d been offered. I was off to Namibia, home to one of the sparsest populations on earth—only two people for every square kilometer.

I can’t say that I was feeling overly excited about my impending trip, but at least I’d made a decision and now had a plan for the next few months.

Chapter 8

T

he soft sunlight streamed through a chink in my bedroom window and played on my bare arm. Lazily I stretched out and rubbed my eyes before tucking my arm back under the covers. For the first time in my life I was determined to sleep in. After all, it wasn’t exactly like I had anywhere to be. I hadn’t felt like this since I was a kid.

In thirty hours I was off to Africa, the cradle of mankind, and all I had to do between now and then was pack my things and enjoy the going-away party Emi was throwing me.

Every time I thought about going to Africa, I felt queasy. In some ways I was starting to get excited—it would be an adventure, after all—but in other ways I deeply regretted the combination of circumstances that had led me to such a rash decision.

While I considered myself quite a seasoned traveler, the furthest I’d ever been out of my comfort zone was Egypt, and cruising down the Nile on a luxury liner wasn’t exactly doing it tough.

My first stop was Johannesburg, purported murder capital of the world, where I was staying with Asha’s friend JoJo and her husband Michael for a night. Following Jo’burg I was off to Windhoek, the capital of Namibia, where someone from the volunteer camp would hopefully be waiting to pick me up.

A few hours later, my apartment looked like a bomb had gone off. Clothes were strewn everywhere. I’d thought packing would be quite a simple task, but it was proving absolutely impossible. What do you take to Africa for six months? I would be there from October to April, which was meant to be the warm season. Of course I’d packed the basics like t-shirts, jeans, and cargos; now I was trying to rationalize my dresses, shoes, and bikinis. In truth, I wasn’t really sure if I’d get to wear any of these items, but I didn’t want to be caught unprepared.

In the end I selected six dresses: two long, flowing silk dresses, one pink, the other in neutral tones; a very pretty floral Ralph Lauren dress which was a fairly recent purchase; two shortish dresses, one gold and the other in green tones (to show off the tan I was bound to get); and one fitted, low-cut black dress that did exactly the right things for both my boobs and butt.

Shoes were proving a bit more difficult. I was definitely taking my silver and gold Prada wedges (last season, but stayers in my opinion), a flattering pair of black silk wraparound heels, and a towering pair of Bally snakeskin stilettos—they were my favorites, and I was going to Africa after all. Of course I wanted to pack more pairs, but space was becoming an issue.

On the bikini front I opted for a fairly skimpy, brightly colored pair and a more traditional cut pair in a tropical print.

I pulled a medium-sized suitcase from the top of my wardrobe and began packing everything in as neatly as possible. I’d been warned that most internal flights in Africa were on small planes and to take as little luggage as possible. Given that I was also traveling alone, I was keen not to have to lug around too much stuff. Still, it was hard to be mercenary with my clothes and I inevitably packed more than I needed.

Packed! Now all I had to do was get ready for my going-away party and remember not to drink too much.

After agonizing over what to wear to my party, I eventually opted for a simple body-hugging scoop-neck red dress, which I dressed up with Armani heels and a Tiffany’s pendant. I surveyed the effect in the mirror: not so bad. Somewhat ironically, the whole Nick/work fiasco had enhanced my looks. My complexion was much fresher and I’d been doing a lot of yoga to fill my time. For the first time in ages I felt really healthy, and it showed.

Chapter 9

E

mi was renowned for her over-the-top parties, and even though I’d begged her for a low-key affair, I was sure this party was going to be no exception.

“Zara!” Emi squealed as I entered the apartment. “You look ravishing.” She grabbed a dangerous-looking cocktail from a tray and headed my way. “Here, drink this; I’m calling it the Zartini!”

Gingerly, I took a sip of the pink liquid. It was delicious! Potent, but really good.

“Wow, not bad, Emi.”

She giggled. “I know. Henri and I have been working hard all afternoon trying to find the perfect blend. This one is the best and I’m already thinking about patenting it. See, I do learn something from hanging around with you lawyers! The only downside to my experimentation is that I’m already totally drunk.”

As if possessing a sixth sense, Henri looked up from the makeshift bar and gave me a lopsided grin and a slightly drunken wave.

Mental note: if I was to have any hope of getting on that plane tomorrow, I was going to have to limit my “Zartinis.” Emi could drink like a fish, so if she was feeling the effects this early, I could be in real trouble.

I wandered over to Sal, who was chatting to a group of work friends. They were all colleagues that I really liked, but I hadn’t seen most of them since my departure, so I was feeling a bit awkward. I needn’t have worried; they all seemed really happy to see me and filled me in on all the work gossip.

The hottest gossip—well, complete scandal actually—was that George’s wife had busted him and evil Clare exchanging sexy e-mails and had kicked him out of the house. According to nice Clare from work, George was screwed because all of his assets were in his wife’s name. Hopefully his wife was smart enough not to take him back.

By this time, some of my Aussie friends had joined the group. While I hadn’t met that many Aussies in NY, the ones I had met I loved. Australians are so laid-back and fun to be around. In next to no time one of my friends, Craig, was spinning Sal around the room. Apparently she had been looking too uptight. Sal at first looked mortified, but after several spins and one dangerously low dip she was all smiles.

Watching them, I couldn’t believe I’d never thought of setting them up. I’d basically tried everyone else I knew for Sal. But no, Sal was on a self-imposed man freeze and I should respect her wishes…

“Zara.” Emi was pulling me away from my friends by the elbow. “Nick is downstairs and he wants to talk to you for a minute.”

For a moment I didn’t think I’d heard Emi right. Nick, downstairs? Slowly the implication set in and my heart started pounding. This was going to make things complicated. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Nick since our breakup, and while I still thought about him all the time, I was starting to feel a bit stronger.

Seeing the panic in my eyes, Emi said, “It’s okay, Zara; I’ll tell him you’re not quite up to it. I’ll be really nice about it, I promise.”

I could feel my head slowly nodding at Emi’s suggestion, but curiosity or the Zartinis got the better of me and I stopped her.

“No, Emi, I’ll go down quickly and see him.” Seeing Emi’s unease, I added, “It might be good closure, you know.”

The fresh air slapped me in the face and I shivered involuntarily as I stepped outside. Stupidly, I’d left my coat upstairs. I peered around and for a few moments couldn’t see Nick anywhere. Then I felt a hand on my waist and I spun around.

“Thanks for coming down, Zara; I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me.” Nick’s voice was husky and sexy.

He was dressed casually in faded jeans, a navy sweater, and a jacket. Damn, he looked good. The tightness had gone from his eyes and he had more color in his cheeks.

“Nick, what are you doing here?” I exclaimed.

“When I heard that you were going away, I just really wanted to say goodbye. I’m being eaten alive by how things ended between us.”

For a few moments I just stood looking at Nick. “You know, I didn’t know whether I should come down and see you…”

I could see him swallowing hard.

“But I’m pleased you came. It would have been weird not saying goodbye. It’s freezing; why don’t you come up to the party? The drinks are good, Emi has made Zartinis, and there are plenty of people up there you know.”

Nick gave a rueful laugh, “No. As tempting as the Zartinis sound, I only break my self-imposed exile for special people! Plus, I’m still a bit too infamous at the moment and I don’t want to ruin your party. But if you can spare five minutes, I’d love to buy you a coffee. No pressure, though; I understand if you want to head back up.”

To my alcohol-addled brain, coffee sounded like a good idea, so we headed to a small Italian restaurant on the corner. It was nondescript and the tired staff were packing up for the evening. Nick had taken off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. The warmth felt good and my body started to relax.

We sat at a tiny table next to the window, and while the staff cleaned around us, I told Nick about Africa and he updated me on his case. Apparently his attorney was confident he’d escape a criminal conviction on the basis that he hadn’t had actual knowledge that Teddy and Josh were insider trading. It looked like Teddy and Josh, on the other hand, would be facing serious jail time.

When I told Nick my Africa trip wasn’t entirely voluntary, he lost it. “Bastards! I can’t believe that you were stalked by the press or that Harvey & Rose is forcing you to take a sabbatical. They know you had nothing to do with it.”

Looking down at his hands he added, “I know it doesn’t help, but I’m just so sorry about all of this, Zara. I’ve put you through so much and it’s incredibly unfair. You loved your job and…”

Something about Nick’s mournful manner made me laugh. “You know, taking six months off work is not all bad! I’m going on what should hopefully be an amazing adventure, and I still have my old job at the end of my trip. After the initial shock of everything, I’m actually feeling okay about things. Funny, isn’t it?”

It was hard to tell if Nick believed me. Still, he was genuinely interested in my trip and asked a lot of questions about what I’d be doing (most of which I couldn’t answer, which panicked me a bit).

We stayed talking like old friends for about half an hour. Eventually a harried waiter gave us the wind-up signal and we left.